


Do I Dare?

by hear_her_speak



Series: May You Learn [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time Together, Oral Sex, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hear_her_speak/pseuds/hear_her_speak
Summary: Inquisitor Branwen Lavellan and her companions have finished up much of their business in the Hinterlands.  Even if they hadn't, a rare heat wave leaves them all exhausted.  They take a break, opting to wait out the heat instead of trudging back to Skyhold sticky with sweat.For Branwen, the heat is the least of her worries.  Solas has already confessed his love, but now things seem to be cooling off.  But, as Branwen takes a swim to relieve herself from the heat of the day, a chance encounter with Solas might just heat things up again between them.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: May You Learn [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597180
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Do I Dare?

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place several weeks after All New, Faded for Her and Solas's balcony conversation.
> 
> I've taken a lot of liberties with the Hinterlands locations and the number of members allowed in the party. I just wanted them all together on the road for a change. :)

The day was excruciatingly hot, and Branwen felt disgusting. The dry heat of the Hissing Wastes was one thing, but the heat that had uncharacteristically fallen over the Hinterlands on that day was humid and oppressive, the kind of heat that makes it hard to breath. 

It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but the heat had halted any work they were going to get done that day, so they'd returned to camp. Sera and Dorian had immediately retreated to their tents, where they could be heard complaining loudly about how sweaty they were. Both shot profanities from their lips, Dorian’s in Tevine and Sera’s in the Common Tongue. Vivienne removed herself from it all, and now lounged several yards away under a great tree, fanning herself. She looked like a painting of a goddess. Blackwall and Cassandra, ever silent in their suffering, said nothing, but instead sat on logs that they had pushed away from the fire that Bull now tended. Bull had taken it upon himself to cook for the evening, roasting three large rams on a massive, gerry-rigged spit. 

“Tonight, we’ll feast like the warriors we are!” he’d explained. “We need to step back and enjoy all we’ve accomplished for once. We’ve earned it.”

He had also taken the liberty of breaking into a large cask he’d rolled back to camp after purchasing it from the tavern at the crossroads. It was enough for twenty people to drink from, or, at any rate, eleven normal people and The Iron Bull.

Cole, the poor dear, had decided to help, which mainly consisted of him running from companion to companion with a giant frond leaf which he flapped around, making a breeze for as many people as he could until his arms hurt.

Varric sat under a tree near Vivienne writing in his notebook. Every few sentences, he would look up from his work to ask Vivienne a question. He was working on a new book set in Orlais, and he was using her for research. After he’d promised to make her the villain, she’d become overjoyed with the idea and was more than happy to give him all the details he needed. 

Branwen smiled, wondering if this scene would one day be written down for posterity in one of his books.

And Solas was gone. He’d gone into his tent, swapped his armor for more casual clothes, then emerged again with his bag over his shoulders. He’d announced he was going on a walk, which Branwen assumed was code for “going to find a place to nap so I can explore more of the Fade,” so she’d let him be. 

Branwen knew the others had taken notice of their relationship. Only Dorian had ever said anything to her about it. She suspected most of them were still trying to figure out what Branwen and Solas were to each other. That was the question that she still wondered, herself.

He had told her he loved her. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he’d said on her balcony, so that had to count for something. But then he’d left. They’d spent so much time together since, and she had stolen an occasional kiss, but it felt like she was doing all the work. She’d never been in the position of the pursuer, and she wasn’t sure now that she liked it all that much. She wanted to be wanted, but she couldn’t tell if she was. So, she’d resolved to back off, stop pursuing. If he wanted to go for a walk, she wouldn’t follow. If he wanted her to join, he should have said so. She was perfectly content where she was.

That was a lie. She wasn’t content at all. She was disgusting. She had never sweat so much in her life. She wanted to be clean. That’s when she decided to bathe.

She grabbed her things, told the others where she was going, told Cassandra to make sure no one, though what she truly meant was Sera (she was in no mood for pranks), followed, and left the camp. 

There was a waterfall nearby with a pretty little pool beneath it - the perfect place for a swim. It was tucked into the rocks and hills, so it was secluded from prying eyes for the most part. Branwen had eyed it on their travels and had wanted to make use of this small, peaceful corner. It just wasn’t until now that she’d had the chance.

She ducked into some brush and undressed, folding her things neatly and shoving them into the bag she’d brought. She had long removed her armor and only wore a thin, grey tunic over her cotton leggings. She stuck her things further into the brush for protection. Part of her worried about robbers or bandits. A larger part of her worried that Sera would put a spider in her things. Just last week, Solas had woken up in the middle of the night shouting. Sera had filled his bedroll with lizards, and though they didn’t scare him, the feeling of “little legs scurrying over his body” were, apparently, not pleasant. Sera liked Branwen, from what Bran could tell, but she wasn’t prepared to take chances.

She looked around, feeling exposed, despite the seclusion her surroundings provided. She waded into the pool, going quickly for privacy’s sake. It was freezing, so she dove under as soon as it was deep enough, deciding to get the worst part over with. She opened her eyes and was delighted with how clear the water was. She looked down just in time to see a fish bump into her leg. It startled them both, the fish darting away and Bran resurfacing with a squeal. Fish were fine, so long as they didn’t touch her. 

She swam for a bit, enjoying the cool, but then she became bored. Not quite ready to go back, she started diving deeper to see what treasures she could find. For the most part, there was nothing. She found an arrowhead that she thought she could reuse and some pretty stones. Each treasure she found she brought back to the surface and laid on a nearby rock to dry. 

On her fifth or so dive, she noticed that there was something beyond the waterfall. She resurfaced for a deep breath, then plunged down again, ready to explore. As she swam under the waterfall, she could feel the hard pressure from the pouring water on her back for just a moment, but then it was gone. She swam on another few meters, then popped up, breathless and excited. She was in a cave. The pool grew shallow, then ended in small, black, jagged rocks. Past these were more rocks, but these were large and flat, big enough for even Iron Bull to lay on. Bran decided to climb up, navigating as best as she could, stubbing toes and scraping feet along the way. Finally, she reached her destination, plopping down with satisfaction. She took a minute to comb her fingers through her hair, trying in vain to work out the knots. She’d always been tender-headed, and, without a brush, detangling proved painful and futile. 

“Fuck it,” she muttered, then gave up. Her hair would just have to look like a rat’s nest. What will Vivienne say?

She stayed on her rock for a bit, savoring the novelty of her secret place, but the novelty wore off, and she decided it was time to return to camp. A place like this would have been a dream as a child. She could imagine sharing this secret with her brother, Elba, or Elanna, Ghilen, and Tanin, her best friends. As children, they would have lingered here for hours. As an adult, there was nothing here for her, and no one to share it with.

She searched for footing, trying to gingerly step off the rock, but she failed. Her foot slipped, and she came crashing down into the shallows. Her ass stung. She stood in the ankle deep water and twisted around for a look. Right across her rear was a six inch scrape. It was puckered and pink, with small beads of red beginning to form. 

And Solas called me graceful! 

Another deep breath and she was under again, gliding under the waterfall, back into daylight. She broke the surface, began to suck in air and-

Her breath caught in her throat. Solas was standing on the bank, removing the jacket he wore over his lambswool tunic. Then, he began tugging off his shirt. Bran could feel her cheeks flushing, her chest was gripped tight in panic. She needed to hide before he saw her. Maybe she should say something? She needed to move, to run, but as his lambswool tunic cleared his shoulders, her brain put all those thoughts on mute. His shoulders were broad, for an elf, and the curve of his spine was just right and his trousers just low enough to be tantalizing without revealing anything. Her mind still said “run,” but the blood was flowing downward and she couldn’t think straight.

Solas sat, turning his body just a bit till he was in three-quarters view. She sank lower into the water, the immediacy of being seen bringing her back to her senses. She tried to swim away as quietly as she could, trying not to splash. The cave was her best hope. He probably didn’t know about it. If she could just hide herself, he could swim and enjoy himself without ever even knowing she was there. All the while, he sat on the ground, removing the wrappings that elves often wore in place of shoes. 

She was almost to the waterfall, almost to safety. 

That’s when she felt the slippery graze of a fish’s body against her thigh.   
She screeched and splashed. 

“Who’s there!” Solas yelped, scrambling to find his shirt. She sunk as far into the water as she could and still breath, praying that the water wasn’t as clear as she remembered. 

“It’s me,” she squealed.

“Branwen? What-” his eyes widened, then he looked away. “Oh, I’m- I’m so sorry!”

“No, please, I’m sorry, I was swimming. I didn’t see you come up!”

He found his shirt and pulled it back over his head, struggling to find the right arm hole. 

“I was behind the waterfall,” she explain, hoping he believed her. “I didn’t know you were here. And then I came out and her your were, and there was this fish-”

What else was there to say? She was so embarrassed.

But Solas wasn’t. He was… laughing? He was laughing! She’d seen Solas chuckle, seen that little smirk grace his lips, but this was so much more. He hugged himself, clutched his sides, and doubled over. This was teary-eyed laughter. This was I can’t breath! laughter. This was contagious laughter. She was treading water, trying to stay afloat, but she started laughing, too, couldn’t stop until her sides hurt and she thought she might drown. She gulped for air, but got water instead. It burned her lungs, and she gurgled, trying to clear her throat, but unable to get air as she sunk. She splashed and flailed, panic clutching her chest. But then he was there, his long fingers curled around her biceps, holding her just high enough to breath but not so high as to compromise her modesty. He could touch where they were, even though it was over her head. She gasped, then choked, coughing up the water from her lungs until she could breathe again. Then she looked at him. 

His eyes were bright, still wet from the laughter, but serious now.

“Are you alright,” he said. 

She laughed again. Her throat hurt from all the water she’d swallowed. “I’m alright. I’ll be better when I find my dignity again. I think I left it behind the waterfall.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” she said on impulse, but it carried with it all of her unspoken desires, desires she hadn’t meant to reveal. When she looked in his face, she saw that he knew what she meant, knew what she wanted. She felt naked in a way that no clothes could cover. “No,” she tried again, hoping to make light of the situation. “I actually might need some help finding it. Maybe you could help me look?”

He laughed at that, an endearing laugh. It said, “I’m fond of you. I like you.”

“Your clothes are all wet,” she said, looking down. He hadn’t taken off his shirt before jumping in to save her. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Clothes can dry.”

“They’d dry faster if you laid them out. Perhaps you should take them off,” she said.

“Maybe I should,” he whispered, and he moved his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. 

Oh, she thought. Oh! Oh Creators! Oh Andraste! Oh fuck! Is this happening? 

He kissed her. His mouth consumed hers, his tongue flicking ever so slightly against hers, and she melted. For all of his faults, he was one hell of a kisser. 

He broke away, leaving her wanting more. He let her go, leaving her to tread water once again, and he swam back towards the shore, laughing as he went. He knew she wanted more, and he was playing with her. Fucking tease!

She wasn’t letting him go so easily. She followed behind him, pushing herself to catch up.

When it was shallow enough that swimming became difficult, he did, trudging towards the bank, his clothes dripping. The water had stretched his shirt and it clung about him awkwardly. He laughed again, deep and hearty. She was falling in love with that sound. 

She stayed in the water, still unsure, wanting to be exposed, wanting Solas to see her but scared. Maybe he sensed her fear, because he stopped laughing. He stared at her, cowering in the water, and something flashed across his face, some emotion that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. It worried her, made her feel unwanted, made her want eight layers of clothes. 

“We shouldn’t,” he said, and her heart broke. 

She was right. He liked her, she could tell. He’d said he loved her, she’d heard him, but there was always something that made him hesitate. Was it because she was Dalish? Should she have to be anything other than what she was for him to care? Or maybe it was something else. Whatever the case, she couldn’t think of a time where she’d felt more frustrated. It made her feel like he didn’t care at all. 

“Solas,” she said, quietly, her arms crossed over her breast, hiding herself further, “if you don’t want this,” tears started to form, but she refused to let them fall. “If you don’t want to be with me, then just say it.”

“Is that what you think?” He looked shocked, then crushed, and she was even more unsure. He looked away, his eyes scanning the air, searching for the right words. He scratched the back of his head as he willed them to come. After a moment, he spoke, and the words struggled to come out. “Inquisitor-”

“You can call me Branwen,” she interjected, “I think we’ve reached that point.”

“Let me say what I have to say, first. You may not want such familiarity when I am done.” He wouldn’t look at her, and she began to understand. It wasn’t her. “I have done some things in my past that I am not proud of. There are things I can’t - that I’m not ready to tell - and I fear that if you knew them you would… regret anything that happens between us.”

I won’t. She thought. It didn’t matter whether or not it was true. She loved him. She wanted him. She had never felt like she felt in that moment, not even with the farmers’ boy back home in the Marches. 

She stood, wanting now to be seen, no longer afraid. The water came to her waist, and she waded forward. Droplets rolled down her skin, dripping from her hair, her fingers, her exposed breasts. Solas looked at her then, his eyes dilating. She knew then that he wanted her, and it was more than enough.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she closed the distance between them. About a foot from him she realized that he was shaking. She put a hand on his cheek and he leaned into it before cupping his own hand around hers. 

“Do you want me?” she asked.

“Inquisitor, please.”

“I don’t care about what you’ve done. I care about who you are right this instant. And I care about the answer to my question. So I’ll ask it again. Do you want me?”

He took a deep breath like a swimmer before a dive, but his answer was straight and honest. “Yes.”

“Then take me.”

He hesitated one last moment, then moved like lightning, stripped his shirt off and flung it in the dirt. He grabbed her by the ass and pulled her close, shoving their hips together, a familiar sensation, so hard it almost hurt. His mouth found hers again, but this time it was so much more desperate. His thigh slid between her legs, just like he had done in the Fade, and the edges of her world went white. He felt so good, but she wanted more. 

She pulled on the waistband of his pants, begging him to take them off. He chuckled. “Eager, are we?”

She didn't respond, but thought yes as she went in for another kiss. He complied, tugging them down. He stepped out of them and left them behind.

He broke away from her lips and began to trail kisses up and down her neck and collarbone. She moaned at the feeling. 

“Vhenan,” he murmured into her throat, “I want to pleasure you.”

She shook, the anticipation killing her. 

“Lie down on the bank.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “Follow me.”

They walked, then swam beside each other as she led him deeper into the water, closer to the waterfall. “Take a deep breath,” she told him, then she took his hand. Together they dove beneath the waterfall and swam into the cave. They came up on the other side, and she watched as Solas took in her secret place. Now, she was certain she would not get bored.

They made their way up to the rocks, Branwen leading the way, trying to show Solas the path she had taken the first time. He grew silent behind her as she searched for her footing. 

“Your back..?” he said.

“Oh,” she giggled. “I fell on my ass trying to get down from here the first time. How bad is it?”

“No,” he said, his voice hushed, “that scar. It’s… very deep.”

“Oh,” she said, turning fully now to face him. She placed a hand on the spot on her right shoulder, remembering the face of the Templar who had taken everything from her all those years ago. The feeling of his blade twisting into her shoulder. The way her blood had stained his glove and her tunic. She remembered the feeling of warmth trickle down her back as the icy fingers of dread clutched her stomach. 

She could see the horror on his face as he tried to put the pieces together. 

“It looks concentrated. Like a stab wound. Did someone do that to you?” He asked, appalled. 

“It’s a long story,” she began. “One that I'm not entirely ready to tell.”

He said nothing, but nodded his head, respecting the echoed word that he himself had said only moments before. 

“Perhaps one day we can both share our secrets with each other.”

He smiled at that, but it was small and did not reach his eyes. “Yes. Perhaps one day we can.”

“Come on,” she said as she reached for his hand. 

She giggled awkwardly as she helped him onto the rock. The tension from the previous moment dissipated, and Solas wasted no time. The moment he found his footing, he pulled her in close and grabbed her ass again. His hand stung a bit against her cut, but she didn't care. His grip was tight, and it made her skin tingle with anticipation. 

He eased her down to the stone until she was laying out on her back, then his slender fingers tenderly spread her legs. He stared for a moment, taking her in. Then his fingers began to trace little images on her inner thighs.

It was too much. She groaned under his touch, desperate for more. As if he knew that she had reached her limit, he began trailing kisses up her legs, ever closer until-

He kissed her clit, delicately, just once. Then he took her in his mouth, sucking and licking. She needed something to cling to, but there was nothing but the cold surface of the rock beneath her, so she fisted her fingers into her hair and pulled, desperate. 

And then it stopped. Disappointed, angry even, she started to sit up, wordlessly demanding an explanation and begging for release. He smiled, and her heart jumped to her throat. This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. 

His eyes never left hers as one of his long, slender fingers pressed into her, sliding in with ease. She relaxed a bit, but kept herself up on her elbows so that she could watch him work. She thought about all the times she had watched him paint, the precision in his strokes, the fineness in every flick of the wrist as his brush created each testament to her deeds. His movements now were not dissimilar. They were slow and exact, and each “come-hither” motion sent shivers up her spine. 

Dread Wolf take me, she thought.

She wanted him to go faster, but she also wanted to last. She wanted him to stop all together so that she could climb into his lap and ride him, but at the same time the idea of him stopping seemed almost blasphemous. No, better to enjoy, to let him keep going. But then, he stopped, and pulled his fingers free. Their eyes met. He looked serious, so serious, and she felt vulnerable again.

“I love you,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

“And I, you,” she said. “I want you with me. Always.”

He said nothing, then, but he seemed to thaw almost, as if, in that moment, the last of his resolve melted. He crawled up to her face and kissed her slowly, his tongue tracing the wall of her teeth ever so slightly. Then, he began his motions again. He added another finger, and she felt full and warm. She cried out, ending the kiss. The pleasure was too great for kissing. She laid down again, her eyes wide, and she enjoyed the spectacle of the light dancing on the cave’s ceiling, reflections from the water below. She allowed herself to relax, no longer fearful that the moment wouldn’t last. She knew then that he was hers, just as she had already been his. She enjoyed the constant pleasure and relaxed into the earth, savoring the moment. 

That was when he added his mouth again, his tongue forming circles around her most sensitive part. His fingers continued their work as well, going deeper, moving faster. She shut her eyes, knowing then that she could no longer control herself. Her back arched, and her hips bucked against him. He took this as an invitation, sucking harder, eating her out with abandon, and his fingers pushing harder, hitting all the right places.

I’m coming, she thought. I’m-

She screamed as she rode out her pleasure. She was a little shocked at just how loud she was, but she allowed herself the abandon, allowed herself the freedom that place provided. She didn’t have to be perfect, here; she didn’t have to maintain the decorum necessary for the Inquisitor. In her secret place, she was free to be who she was, and was free to be loved for who she was, not who the Inquisition wanted her to be. 

Not the Herald of Andraste, not the Inquisitor, but a woman. A woman loved by a man.

She rode out the last of her orgasm, slowly returning back to earth. She could feel her blood pulsing at the meeting of her thighs. A few last strokes, then Solas pulled his fingers out of her, and the movement made her quiver. She felt like jelly. She could feel her muscles trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. Her eyes felt heavy.

Solas moved closer, then laid down beside her. She slowly moved to her side, facing in towards him, though the effort was more than she cared to admit. It dawned on her that she had done nothing for him. She looked down, saw his cock flushed and erect, and reached out, fighting the sleep that threatened to take her. He caught her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers.

“Let me-”

“You can barely keep your eyes open,” he cooed. “It can wait, Vhenan. Rest.”

“Really, it’s fine,” she slurred, the words sounding so much clearer in her head.”

“Next time,” he whispered.

“Next time?”

He kissed her forehead. “Next time.”

She floated away, then, into a black slumber. Solas did not lead her to the Fade, nor did its shadows tease her with dreams, the best sleep she had had in months.

* * * * *

When she awoke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She opened her eyes to see Solas’s face pressed close to hers. They both lay on their sides, and his arms were wrapped around her. His face was serene and his breathing slow. She wondered what part of the Fade he was exploring. 

The lights were no longer dancing on the ceiling. Panic gripped her. How late was it? Were the others looking for them? 

She sat up and shook Solas from his slumber. He sat up with a start that made her jump. Had he, too, forgotten where they were? With everything they faced on a daily basis, perhaps they had both needed the rest. 

“You startled me,” he said, his chest still heaving 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.

“Of course, Vhenan,” he smiled, just starting to catch his breath. He reached over, moving a strand of hair that had fallen in her face and tucking it behind her ear. “I'm... not accustomed to sleeping with someone else. It has been some time for me. And I was rather deep in the Fade.”

“Where did you go?”

“Right here. Long ago, this cave was used as a hold for smugglers. There were treasures here you would not believe.”

She smiled at that. She liked the idea of her secret place’s history. It fit exactly what she'd imagined. 

“I suspect the others will be wondering where we went,” Solas said. “Perhaps it's time to head back.”

She scooted closer to where he sat, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed the small of her back. She kissed him sweetly, not like they had done before. They simply pressed their lips together and enjoyed each others’ mouths. It wasn't long, but it made Branwen’s stomach fill with butterflies. 

They broke apart, and she stood. She hadn't realized just how stiff she was until she stood. Judging by the groan that came from Solas when he rose, he felt the same. 

“Maybe sleeping here wasn't my best idea.” 

He chuckled, and they began to make their way down to the water. They had dried off, and she really didn't want to get wet again. The water was freezing in the waning light. There was nothing for it, though, so, with a deep breath, they both took the plunge under the waterfall. Their things were on opposite sides, so they parted. She got out, found her things in the brush, and dressed quickly, the heat of the day receding with the sun that was nothing more than a small, red crescent on the horizon. 

Once dressed, she called across to Solas, who stood on the bank, his bare ass reflecting the last of the day's light. What was taking him so long?

“Are you alright?” She called across the water. 

“My clothes,” he called back, lifting his belongs into the air to let her see. Even with her Elven ability to see in the dark, she couldn't tell what he meant from that far away. 

“Hold on!” She called. “I'll be right there.”

There was a ford a ways up the river, so she walked until she found the shallow spot and jogged across. By the time she reached Solas, he was trying to wiggle into soaking wet pants. 

“What are you doing?” She giggled. He was clearly not as amused as she was. 

“I never laid my clothes out to dry. In my haste I threw them in the mud. They were filthy, so I had to rinse them.”

She contorted her lips, trying to stifle her grin. “It's not a big deal,” she offered. “You have other clothes back at camp.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just walk back to camp in the nude?” He was beginning to get angry. He had that same tone he used with Bran’s companions when they said something he disagreed with. 

“That would certainly give everyone quite a shock,” she said, ringing the remaining water from her hair. 

“Yes, it’s all very funny,” he spat. He’d gotten into his pants, though they were still dripping water. His shirt was in slightly worse shape, mainly due to its material. 

“You don't have anything that you could wear back to camp?” She asked. 

“No.”

“What did you bring in the bag, then?”

“Some food and a bedroll. I was planning to explore the Fade.”

Called it, she thought. “Why didn't you?”

“I could not get comfortable in this damned heat!” Solas had many wonderful qualities, but it could not be said that he lacked a temper. Branwen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, noticing how smooth and firm the muscles were under her fingers. 

“It’s ok. You said you had a bed roll, so use the blanket to wrap up in. We can dry your shirt out at camp.”

He huffed, but complied. He went to the water’s edge to rinse the dirt that was caked on the crumpled, damp shirt, wrung it out, then laid it on a mostly clean rock. Next, he grabbed his sack, pulled out the blanket, and bunched it around the shoulders. Once the blanket was perfectly situated, he slid his arms through the straps of his sack and hoisted it onto his shoulders. The blanket was bunched so it almost looked like a poncho, held tightly in place by the straps. 

“See, not so bad,” Branwen said, tugging down on his makeshift sleeves. 

Solas frowned, but said nothing. He was so aloof, his thoughts and feelings so tightly concealed, she wondered if she’d ever really get to know him at all. She wanted to try, though, and she felt the best way was to simply ask. 

“Why are you so upset?”

“I'm not upset,” he lied. He was a terrible liar. 

She shot him an “oh, come on!” look and pressed again for an answer. “Are you embarrassed?”

He sighed, his shoulders and head falling slightly, and conceded his answer. “I suppose.”

“Why?”

“They will talk.”

“About us?” 

He glared at his feet and pouted, and Branwen knew she had hit the nail on the head.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is simply none of their business,” he began. She nodded, urging him to continue. “I don’t mind them knowing about us. They are our friends, for better or for worse. I know they talk. They’ve been talking. But…. When I… began traveling, I sought company, sought companionship. But once I began discussing my interests, my beliefs, I was ridden off as a heretic or, worse, a lunatic.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“I am used to being ridiculed and laughed at for those things. But my relationship with you is different. It is… more personal. I do not wish to open what we do in private to their commentary and ridicule.”

She held his hands in hers. “I get it. Sort of.”

“You like talking about it, yes?”

She nodded. “Well, not to everyone. And I can keep my mouth shut if it upsets you.”

He smiled. “Dorian won’t hound you for details?”

“Only in jest. It’s Cassandra who you have to watch out for.”

“Cassandra?”

Branwen nodded. “You know she reads smutty novels in her downtime, right?”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I do now.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You tell whomever you wish to tell, Vhenan. Ignore a sour old man, and forgive him his pride. 

She chuckled. “You are an old man! What will my Papae say when he finds out!” She kissed his cheek and bounded away, expecting him to follow as she made her way back towards camp. 

You have no idea, he thought as he bounded behind her to catch up. 

* * * * *

As they approached the camp, heads turned their way. Most of their companions were courteous enough not to say anything, but not all. Iron Bull was the first to speak. As soon as they were in earshot, he bellowed, “‘Bout time the two of you got it on! Hey, boss, is Solas any good in the sack?”

“Bull!” growled Cassandra, but it did nothing to stop him. 

“What? I'm just asking an honest question? Besides, you were all thinkin’ it.”

“Bull’s right,” murmured Blackwell. 

“Ha!” cried Sera, crawling from her tent. She walked over to Bull, slapped him on the back, and, with a snort, giggled, “I bet he cries out ‘Elven glory!’ when he does it.”

Branwen laughed, but shot Sera the bird in jest. Solas grabbed her free hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then whispered that he was going to go change. She suspected he needed to retreat before he let anyone see that their jokes flustered him. 

Branwen approached the fire. It was still hot, but the night brought cool air, and she welcomed the warmth, if for nothing else to dry her hair. She sat on a log next to Dorian, who said nothing, but looked quite amused. She took a moment to tie her hair up in a loose bun on top of her head. She would worry about the tangles when they returned to skyhold. 

“Sera, Bull, you two are positively awful. Where are your manners?” scolded Vivienne, who approached now, a glass in one hand and a fan in the other, which she flicked back and forth lazily. “Of course, I suspect this sort of thing from Sera, but you, Iron Bull-” she hit him with the fan “-are better than this.”

Bull blushed. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Branwen thought she heard Sera whisper “bitch” under her breath. 

Blackwell was currently manning the spit, and the rams both looked and smelled divine. 

“I'm starving,” she groaned. “It looks delicious, Bull. You’ve outdone yourself!”

“See,” said Vivienne, gesturing to Bran. “Manners.” 

“Thanks, Boss,” Bull said, something of a blush on his cheeks. 

A few moments later, Solas emerged from his tent. He was wearing the long sleeved, dark green shirt he normally wore under his armor with long, grey pants. He walked over and silently took an empty seat next to Varric, almost directly across from Branwen. She wanted to be closer to him, but considering the seat next to her would have put him point blank behind Bull’s ass, who was currently checking the cooking meat, she understood. Their eyes met, though, and her heart leapt when he smiled at her. Then Varric nudged him, and the two began talking. Cole found his way to them, and took the seat to Solas’s right. They had both been the most welcoming to Cole when he joined, and he usually followed one of them around if he could. 

“So,” began Dorian in a low voice, a twinkle in his eyes. “You and our unwashed apostate.”

“Are you surprised?” she smiled. 

“I can't say that I am,” he said, lifting his hand to his chest with a flick of the wrist, his fingers splayed against the rich velvet of his robes, to create his dignified, supercilious caricature. “But then, nothing surprises me, for I know all.” 

She laughed. She was pretty sure she was in love with Solas, but Dorian was something else entirely. She loved him deeply. He reminded her so much of Elba. He was a part of her, her other half, almost. She adored him.

“Now, Bull’s got me curious, though I wish he hadn’t. I must know, how was he? Was he...” Dorian grimaced. “descent?”

“I'll give you all the gory details, later,” she promised. 

“You’d better. I want explicit gory details, my friend. I should feel sick to my stomach everytime I look at Solas when you’re finished, or you’ve not done your job properly.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Yes, but if you can find higher quality shit in all of Thedas, I'll eat my helmet.” They both laughed, then returned to silently watching the fire. After a fashion, he asked, quietly, “Are you happy?”

She had a knee-jerk response of yes, but she could feel the weight of his question, so she stopped and thought, really thought, about the answer. The answer was simple, but the reason was more complex than she had considered. Branwen had been forced far from her home, and a home - a family - was all she wanted. Here was a man who always opened himself up to her friendship, who always offered her kindness, who made her feel ill-informed with his depth of knowledge, but never stupid, whose encouragement had kept her sane on some of her more difficult days. A man who knew the pain of rejection, knew the struggles and hardships of life. Here was a man with whom she thought she just might once again find home.

“Yes,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

“Good,” Dorian replied. “I wouldn’t stand for anything less. Not for my very best friend.”

She took Dorian’s arm and leaned into his shoulder. 

“Alright!” cried Bull, “what is it you Orlesians say, Ma’am? You know, right before you eat?”

“Bon appetit?” said Vivienne, bemused.

“Yeah, bon appetit, you fucking bastards!”

They ate to their hearts’ content, enjoying a brief moment of reprieve amongst the chaos, a group of misfits, bound together by the chords of fate or chance or sheer dumb luck, and somehow, perhaps by those same chords, turned into a family.

Yes, Branwen truly was happy.


End file.
